


Find Strength in Pain, Find Strength in Me

by Elizabeethan



Series: Find Strength in Pain [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Season/Series 02, The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), The Jolly Roger | The Jewel of the Realm (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeethan/pseuds/Elizabeethan
Summary: After defeating the wraith, Emma Swan is dragged through the portal they sent it through and suddenly finds herself in the land in which she should have grown up. Lost, overwhelmed, and desperate to get home to her son, she accepts help from the gruesome pirate Captain Hook— and his accomplice.A Season 2 AU in which Emma ends up the the Enchanted Forest alone, and she and Hook (try to) work together to get to the Land Without Magic.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Series: Find Strength in Pain [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177787
Comments: 54
Kudos: 127





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are very brief descriptions of near drowning at the very beginning of this, so if that’s troubling for you, skip the first couple of paragraphs.
> 
> This fic is all @donteattheappleshook's fault. she also beta'd it, so it would be nothing without her.  
> I think it will have 3 parts but you know... we'll see

The frigid salt water burns her throat and nose, choking her as she struggles to differentiate up from down through the blackness surrounding her. The sudden change in scenery is jolting. Just a second ago she was in Town Hall, and now she finds herself drowning and struggling against the crashing waves. 

The irrational part of her, the part that hasn’t recognized how close she could be to death, wonders where she is, where she’s ended up. But a larger, more frightened part of her panics, paddling her arms as forcefully as she can against the strong current that continues to pull her beneath the swell of the water. 

She crests over the surface once more, struggling to take in a breath before being assaulted by another crashing wave, her lungs filling with abrasive water as she begins to feel herself slipping out of consciousness.  _ It can’t end like this,  _ she thinks desperately, trying to fight against the warmth she feels threatening her. It would be so easy to give up and let the warm feeling take her. Her body can only take so much more abuse.

She shakes these thoughts of giving up from her mind. Once more, she tries to find the surface so that she can take a breath, but before she can, she takes in more salt water. 

_ Not like this.  _

She’s fading fast, blackness taking over her vision far too quickly, before she feels a heavy, rough weight thumping against her and circling her arms. As if by second nature, she grabs into the object, unsure of whether it’s a rope or a piece of seaweed, and clings for dear life. It’s her lifeline, or perhaps a security blanket to ease her fears as she succumbs to the death that seems all too impending. 

Hugging the thick and heavy object close to her chest, she feels it tugging her against the strong current until she’s out of the waves, the cold air welcome against her hot and freezing flesh. A pair of rough hands grab her beneath her arms and hoists until she’s tossed to the ground. 

“Good girl,” she hears from above as she coughs violently. The velvet voice is almost enough to distract her from the fire in her throat. “Get the sea out of your lungs.” 

“Who are you?” she rasps, shaking suddenly against the freezing air. 

“The name is Hook.  _ Captain _ Hook. Welcome aboard the  _ Jolly Roger _ , my dear.” 

Panting, she collapses against the aged deck of the ship she’s found herself on, letting her cheek rest against the wood as she finally succumbs and fades into unconsciousness. 

~~~~

“She can’t very well eat a meal while she’s asleep, can she, Mr. Smee?”

“N-no, Captain. Of course not, Sir. I merely thought that if the lass were to wake sometime soon, she’d likely be famished.” 

“Aye, I’d imagine she would be. But I suppose we won’t know until she wakes, will we?” 

“Certainly, Sir. It’s just that she’s been asleep for a day, and I thought she may want sustenance.”

“And have you become a mind-reader overnight, Mr. Smee? Are you able to predict when she’ll wake?”

“Of course not, Sir.” 

“No need to waste food on a sleeping damsel, then. Save it for the crew until we know she needs it.” 

“Aye aye, Captain.” 

She lets herself shift on the small, firm mattress, rolling to one side and groaning at the throbbing behind her eyes once the voices quiet and she hears a door latching shut. The moment she makes a sound, her lungs protest and she’s coughing again. 

“Ah, she lives,” she hears, and she starts in surprise, grabbing for the thick quilt that covers her and pulling it up to her chin. “Worry not, love, for I am a man of honor. I shan’t look if you’d prefer I didn’t.” 

“Who the hell are you?” she rasps, coughing some more. “Where am I?” She’s so disoriented from her experience and the resulting headache that she can hardly tell what sort of space she’s in.

“My dear,” he chuckles. “We’ve had this conversation already. Call me Hook; I’m captain of this fine vessel. You find yourself aboard the  _ Jolly Roger _ .” He knocks a metal appendage against the wall of the cabin, smiling pridefully.

“The hell is that?” she asks in confusion, unable to stop the venom from lacing her voice. Then she realizes what she saw him do, looks at his arm, and notes that there’s an actual hook where a hand should be. “Wait… did you say…  _ Hook _ ?”

He smirks, raising a brow in such a dramatic way that Emma can hardly believe him to be real. In fact, she must be in some limbo between life and death, because there is no possible way that she’s in the presence of  _ the _ Captain Hook. She doesn’t remember the damn Disney character looking like  _ that _ . 

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” he quips playfully.

In an attempt to make sense of the situation she’s in, she changes the subject, unable to give any more mental energy to something so far from possible. “Just—” She coughs once more. “Tell me where I am. I fell… I mean…” She’s certain her words aren’t making sense. She can’t very well tell this stranger the truth, that she was sent here by magic, despite the fact that he seems to think himself a fairytale character. 

“You wish to know what land you’re in?”

“ _ Yes _ .” 

“You’re in Misthaven, love. Some call it the Enchanted Forest.” 

She groans.  _ The Enchanted Forest.  _ That’s where her parents are from; where she was supposed to grow up. How the hell did she find her way here? (And seriously, did she have to land in the middle of the ocean?)

“Well I need to get home,” she insists firmly, sitting up and pulling the quilt tighter to herself. Her clothes have been removed, likely due to them being completely soaked, and she finds herself in only her underwear and a thin, black linen slip, trying not to think about who put her in it. “And I’d like my clothes back.” 

He hums, pushing himself off of the table he was leaning against and walking towards the door. “I’m sure you would. Peculiar outfit you were donning, love. Where, pray tell, might one find such clothing?” 

She gives him an indignant look, raising a brow and reaching a hand palms up towards him expectantly. He chuckles, then exits the room to leave her alone and confused. 

She looks around the space curiously, noting the windows to her left overlooking the sea that almost claimed her. There’s a table with four leather-bound chairs, the surface decorated with a candelabra and a strange looking navigation tool. Shelving along the windows is covered in maps and books and strewn-about pages. There’s a chest in the corner, tucked away in a way that makes her curious. She’s about to stand and explore, but the door opens once more and the confident captain swaggers back in. 

“There we are, lass,” he says, passing her neatly-folded clothes to her with a cocky smile. “It seems we both have an affinity towards leather, aye? I do enjoy the deep red, very… sensuous.” The smirk on his face is somewhat unnerving. The depth with which he stares her down makes her squirm, but she thinks that’s exactly his goal so she schools her features, dedicated to not giving him any satisfaction. 

“Some privacy, please?” she asks, although it’s not as if she’ll be taking  _ no _ for an answer. 

“If the lady insists,” he concedes, continuing to smirk at her as he bows dramatically, his coat sweeping the ground as he sinks- but he still doesn’t leave.

“She does,” Emma says slowly, raising her brows and nodding towards the door. 

“Tough lass,” he chuckles, stepping away from her. “Very well, love, I’ll give you a bit of privacy. But when I get back, you and I are going to have a little chat.”

“Can’t wait,” she mumbles. 

Once he’s finally gone, she can do what she’s been wanting to and explore her surroundings, taking in all of the information about him she can before he returns. She hops into her jeans quickly, nearly dropping to the ground as she does, but determined to find something she can use on him in case he threatens her somehow. Tossing her shirt over her head and dropping the too-sheer fabric to the ground, she scours the room as quickly and silently as she can, opening books and shoving loose pages aside as she moves along the shelving. She finally gets to the chest and opens it up, finding a small, aged piece of parchment resting on top of its contents, as if it was placed there carefully and with loving respect. 

She hums, removing it from the chest to observe the detailed sketch, noting the subject’s beauty— her thick curls and her kind eyes— and the doting way the parchment is placed in the chest, as if being hidden and placed on display all at once. She wonders what else this pirate has up his sleeves based on the care he’s used to store this work of art. She wonders where this woman could be;  _ who _ she could be. 

As she ponders the sketch, the ship rocks and the glimmer of sunlight against metal catches her attention. She glances down and sees exactly what she needs: a small, sharp dagger.  _ Perfect.  _

She hears the footsteps approaching and jumps, rushing to pick up her jacket and hoist it over her shoulders, hiding the short blade in her sleeve as the door swings open immediately after a soft knock. “Decent, love?” he asks as he pushes through holding a small plate. 

She answers affirmatively, although it doesn't seem to matter because he’s in the room before she could’ve stopped him. He hands her the plate with a smirk that she doesn’t think ever leaves his face and walks around her to take a seat in a chair. He gestures in front of him-- though she’s unsure if it’s towards the small mattress she slept on or a chair before him-- and commands, “sit.” 

She pinches her brows together suspiciously but listens, choosing to step back and sink onto the surface of the mattress. “What the hell is this?” she asks once she looks down at the contents of the plate he handed her. 

“Hardtack and salted meat, love. What’s wrong, would you have preferred gruel?” 

Glancing back down and the bland, overly beige food, she makes a face of disgust and takes a bite of the dry-looking biscuit she desperately wishes was a strawberry Poptart. She feels the crumbs drying her mouth and throat and she begins to cough again. 

He shakes his head and  _ tsks _ , taking out a small flask and walking towards her to press it to her lips. She takes it from him with force and tosses it back, sputtering again at the burn as the liquid sides down her throat. “Are you trying to torture me?” she demands as she pushes him away. “Don’t you have water?”

With another smirk, he says, “torture, you say? Well, you are my prisoner. Perhaps that’s not a bad idea.” 

“ _ Water?” _

“All we have is grog, and I’m afraid you wouldn’t like it much more than the rum.” 

Picking up the strange, rigid meat by one end, her face sours at the thought of eating jerky offered to her by a pirate who probably hasn't seen land in months and likely doesn't know much of meat preservation. But she’s starving, having apparently been unconscious for a while, and she can’t resist. “Anything’s better than the lava you just forced down my throat,” she says around the salty food. 

“Very well,” he concedes, then shouts, “Smee!” 

She jumps just slightly, noting the barely-there ringing in her ears as her head throbs as a plump, stocky man enters the room. “Aye, Cap’n?” 

“Fetch the young lady some grog, if you please.”

The man nods once, scurrying from the room. The Captain scans the cabin while he’s gone, taking note of the shirt she left on the floor and narrowing his eyes. “I keep a tight ship, lass,” he chastises. 

She almost wonders if she should be worried as his gaze reaches hers, hot and angry at the sight of the small mess she left behind. But the man returns with a goblet, handing it to her with a shaky grip and stepping backwards. “Anything else, Sir?”

“That’ll be all, Mr. Smee. Ensure we aren’t bothered.” His tone is bordering on threatening and her pulse quickens in her veins.

He nods and slinks out of the room once more, latching the door behind him. She looks down at the large cup that was proffered to her and doesn’t think it’ll be much better than his rum, as he tried to warn her, but chances it and takes a sip. 

It’s awful, completely disgusting, but it’s all she has and it doesn’t burn quite as much as the rum had. She makes a sound of disgust, sticking her tongue out and reaching for the jerky again in hopes of getting the taste out of her mouth. 

“Quite dramatic,” he remarks, and she realizes he’s been studying her with a pensive look on his face, right eyebrow never dropping.

“It’s terrible.”

“Water that sits stagnant tends to collect green slime, which I can assure you tastes far worse than that.”

“So instead you add  _ poison _ to it?” 

He guffaws, tossing his head back and pressing his hand to his middle. “A bit of alcohol is hardly poison, love.”

The meat actually doesn't taste too bad, but it’s so salty and dry that she has to pinch her nose and take another swig of his poison water. 

“Now,” he starts, still staring at her intently. “What’s your name, love?”

She rolls her eyes, mumbling around the jerked meat. “It isn’t  _ love _ .” 

His eyes narrow and he leans his arms against the table, cocking his head as he says, “understand this: you’d be dead in the water, quite literally, if not for my men fishing you out of the sea. I’ve fed you, dressed you… I’ve kept you alive all this time warding off fever. I owe you nothing. And you’d do well to remember that as an obligatory passenger on  _ my ship _ .” She sits quietly as if she was scolded by a teacher, biting her lip and looking back down at her food for one more helping. “Your name,” he demands again. 

“Emma,” she grumbles. “Emma Swan.” 

“Well, Swan, pleased to meet you.” 

She gives him a small smile, because she somewhat doubts that but doesn’t think it a good idea to anger him any more than she apparently already has, and nods in return. “Likewise. And… thank you.” 

As he breathes out a chuckle, he says, “if I had to guess, I’d say that statement is rare to leave your lips, darling.” 

She rolls her eyes again. “Well, you’re right. You and your crew saved my life.” He nods in acknowledgement of her thanks. “Hey, who changed me anyway?” 

He laughs awkwardly. “Ah, do you not recall? You were quite fiery indeed, swatting my hand away. I assure you, I neither saw nor touched anything. But I couldn’t leave you in those cold, soaked… clothes,” he says, giving her a suspicious look as he takes in her outfit, apparently foreign to him and to this land. “You were close to catching your death from the cold, but you absolutely refused to let me take off…  _ everything _ .” With a blush, she breathes out an irritated laugh, unsure of how to react to the fact that this man has apparently seen much more of her than she would have hoped. “I must admit, while the entire ensemble is quite unfamiliar to me, I was particularly perplexed by whatever tiny bit of fabric was covering up your—”

“ _ Okay _ ,” she cuts him off, putting the plate down on the mattress, noting his eyes trailing far too low. “We don’t need to talk about my… tiny fabric.” 

With a chuckle, he sits back in his chair once more and nods in agreement. “Very well, lass. Now it’s your turn to answer another question for me.” 

“Fine.” 

“What the bloody hell were you doing in the middle of the ocean? We’re a good two or three day’s ride from shore.” 

She inhales deeply, unsure of what she should tell this stranger. He’s right, of course. He could have left her to die in the water, could have let her succumb to the hypothermia she was likely suffering from. But he didn’t. Instead, he helped her. He himself removed her soaked clothing rather than pawning her off on his potentially touch-starved crew, affirming to her that he hadn’t violated her in any way despite her precarious position. He fed and watered her. He made sure she was warm and comfortable and safe. And, if she’s in the Enchanted Forest, or just outside of it, she can assume he knows something of the magic that brought her here. 

“I fell through a… portal,” she finally admits timidly. 

His eyes narrow in suspicion and he leans forward again, eyes making intense contact with her own. “A portal?” he clarifies. 

“Yes.” 

“How did you come across this portal?” 

She shrugs. “A magic hat, I guess.” She wonders if he thinks she’s mad based on the manic look in his eyes. “And I need to get back.” 

“Aye, I would imagine you do.” He sits back once more, still eyeing her with trepidation. “Tell me, then, from what land were you dragged through this portal?” 

“No, I get to ask a question now,” she says boldly, almost childishly, despite the fact that he has only just scolded her for her attitude towards him. 

Narrowing his eyes, he concedes and waves his hand before himself. “Very well.” 

“What’s your name?”

His confidence seems to waiver as he considers her inquiry, cocking his head to the side and eyeing her up and down before he comes to a decision. “Killian,” he says hesitantly. Then “Killian Jones,” with more grandeur. It isn’t lost on her that he chooses not to include his title, his claim to power. “Now, your turn. From whence did you fall, Emma Swan?” 

“Um,” she starts, unsure of how to answer since she was never given any sort of guidebook to the names of all the magical realms. Thinking back to what her parents had called it, she answers, “I guess you would know it as the Land Without Magic.” 

He stands suddenly, forcefully moving his chair back and stepping towards her in haste so that she backs away from him on the bed. Once he’s close enough to lean over her, she gulps, letting the small blade slip down her sleeve so she can hold the handle tightly. “Did you say the Land Without Magic?” he asks forcefully, his face inches from her own. 

“Yes,” she whispers back. “That’s where I live; I need to get back there.” 

His eyes stare into hers with such intensity that it makes her skin crawl. After a moment, he schools his features and backs away slightly. “Well,” he says as he rights his blouse. “Then I offer my ship and my services.” 

She drops her jaw, stunned, and utters, “ _ what _ ?” 

He nods, making his way back to his desk and taking a seat once again. “I need to get there as well. It would likely be more efficient if we worked together.” 

With her eyes narrowing, she stands, tucking the handle of the short dagger back up under her sleeve, and walks around the table so that she’s standing closer to him, looking out the window. He remains still, apparently not fazed by her movements. “Why would you need to get to the Land Without Magic?” 

She can’t see his face, standing behind him now with their backs to each other, but she can hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year.” 

She spins, facing him as a thought pops into her mind. This man is a pirate sailing through her parents’ kingdom. Though she knows little about this place, and about pirates in general, she does know that a pirate and a king do not get along. The curse swept up everyone in this realm, and his desire to get to the place where Misthaven’s royalty now reside can’t be a coincidence. 

With these thoughts in mind, she lets the blade slip out of her sleeve and grabs him by the hair, holding the dagger up to his neck as he struggles in surprise. “I don’t believe you. What’s in it for you?” 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he stutters. 

“Do you know who I am? Tell me why you really want to get to my home.” 

He gasps against the sharp metal, trying to pull away, and answers, “to exact vengeance on the man who took my hand.” 

She glances down and notes the hook once more, something she’s been trying to ignore because the idea that this man is Captain Hook is too hard to swallow. She lets him go, dropping the blade from his flesh and backing away. Letting out a breath, he relaxes back in his chair again. “Just who are you, Swan?” he asks playfully, practically waggling his brows as he rubs his neck. Apparently, he finds it more important to flirt with her than to worry about the fact that she just threatened his life. 

Yeah, she shouldn’t have let that one slip. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

“Perhaps I would.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Listen, I need to get home to my son,” she says honestly. “I don’t have any more time to waste; the longer I’m gone, the worse things could get for him.” 

He smirks. “You have a son?” he asks, sweeping his gaze pointedly along her body. She shoves away from him and pulls her jacket tight to her torso. “No need to fret, love, we’ll get you home.”

“I’m not fretting,” she snaps, though she continues to hug her arms around herself.

Noting her evident discomfort, he continues on casually as if to assure her that what she seeks is possible. “I have arranged transport with someone, but her company is a bit… well, it makes me uneasy,” he says with an awkward smile. “She also doesn’t exactly know where this land is, what with the lack of magic and all, so having you as a guide may prove useful in her eyes. Plus, if you and I team up, we can overthrow her, should the need arise.” 

With a scoff, she says, “great, I can’t wait to work with someone I should plan to  _ overthrow _ .” 

“Worry not, love. She’s naught but fervidly motivated. You see, she needs to get to her child as well, a daughter.” 

“Really?” That peaks her interest and she moves around the table to sit in a chair facing him. “Who is she?”

“Her name’s Cora,” he answers casually. Pursing her lips, Emma tries to recall if she knows anyone in town with that name, but she thinks not. Although, she didn’t have long to learn everyone’s un-cursed personas, so it’s entirely possible that this woman’s daughter, Cora, is someone she already knows.

“And who is this man you’re trying to… exact revenge on?” she asks, repeating his dramatic words. 

“He’s known well as the Dark One, but also as Rumplestiltskin.” 

“The  _ Dark One _ ?” 

“Aye, I take it you know of him?”

“I do, but how could you possibly kill  _ him? _ Isn’t he supposed to have, like, the most powerful magic ever?”

He chuckles. “Very eloquent, darling. And yes, he is, which is why I must travel to the Land  _ Without _ Magic. So I can best him fair and square.” 

She should tell him, right? She should be honest about the fact that the Land Without Magic does, in fact, have magic now that the curse has broken. About the fact that, if he’s putting all of his eggs in this metaphorical basket, he’s doomed to lose. 

She almost feels bad for this man. She knows he’s likely violent and dishonorable, but he’s right in that he’s been nothing but caring and helpful to her. A part of her almost trusts his kind, menacing eyes. And now, he’s offered her help getting home. He may be her only chance to get back to Henry; to keep him safe from Regina. 

So she stays silent, nodding in agreement, assuring him that his plan to kill the Dark One using only his skills in swordsmanship is foolproof. 

Guilt settles in instantly, churning her stomach in response to his obvious excitement at the prospect of having a chance to exact his revenge. 

But she needs to get home. 

~~~~

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! here is part 2! thank you to @the-darkdragonfly for being an incredible beta and to @donteattheappleshook for being instrumental in the creation of this fic.

Despite her circumstances, Emma does not feel like a prisoner of fearsome pirate Captain Hook. In fact, she’s been made to feel quite comfortable in his quarters, and after he was sure that their interests aligned and that they were useful to one another, he told her she could have free reign of the ship to do as she pleased until they made landfall. 

“No one on this vessel will harm you, love,” he assured her when she became bored of exploring his quarters, and she believed him immediately. 

Maybe she was bothering him as he peered over his logs and maps and she tinkered with the exotic items he’s collected— perhaps that’s why he encouraged her to explore. Either way, she didn’t have to be told twice, and found out that the men aboard were surprisingly pleasant as well. Mr. Smee was a shy and timid man, but friendly and caring all the same. The rest of the crew wore snarls when they looked at her, but broke down easily the moment she began casual conversation with them. 

Maybe it’s because they know how instrumental she is in their Captain getting his revenge. 

As she leans against the rail of the upper deck after a day of learning about ships and pirating, she watches as the sun sets behind them, painting the sky an intoxicating shade of pink that fades into purple and black. Hook is at the wheel, navigating through the ocean that almost claimed her, and despite her situation, she feels safe. If she had to be dragged from the sea and rescued by pirates, she supposes she lucked out with the  _ Jolly Roger. _

“Quite a sight, isn’t it, love?” he asks her, and she turns to face him so she can respond. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

“Never been aboard a ship before, I take it?” he calls from the wheel, giving her a smirk at the look of wonderment on her face. 

“Nope, never had much of a need to,” she responds as casually as she can. 

“Or an opportunity?” 

She laughs, a bit awkwardly, and says, “I guess not. It’s not something I've really thought about.”

“I see,” he concedes when she gets closer to him, leaning against the rail just across from the wheel he commands. “So, tell me about your boy.” 

She sighs wistfully and looks up to the sky, wondering what he could be up to, what he’s thinking, if he’s worried about her. “His name is Henry. He’s almost eleven, but he acts like he’s 32. Super smart, very passionate about the things and people he cares about.” 

“Sounds like you,” he chuckles.

“How would you know?” she asks with incredulity. 

“You're an open book. And you did hold a knife to my throat yesterday. I can only attribute that to your passion and assume that you want to get home  _ quite _ badly.” 

“Of course I do,” she rolls her eyes, stepping closer to him until she’s leaning against the helm and glaring at him. “I’m his mother,” she insists. 

He nods and says, “of course. But I sense that there’s more to the story.”

Caught off guard, she answers, “well, just… he’s been through a lot. Especially in the past year.”

“I see. And you don’t wish to contribute to his turmoil.” She shrugs, looking away from his gaze. “You don’t wish to contribute...  _ further? _ ”

Her breathing falters at his accuracy and she says, “let’s just say I wasn’t always there for him in the way I should’ve been. He deserves better and I need to get home to make sure I can give him that.” 

He nods thoughtfully, pursing his lips and looking ahead towards the horizon again, as if anything before them has changed in the last day and a half. “I understand, love.” It’s as if he shakes himself out of a trance when he says, “try your hand at the wheel?” 

She raises her brows and gives him a disbelieving look. “After I just told you I’ve never even been on a ship?”

“It’s not difficult to learn,” he tells her as he lifts his hand towards her, gently guiding her behind the wheel. “Besides, the  _ Jolly _ is enchanted. You can’t hurt her.” 

She snorts softly, shaking her head as he leads her and places her hand upon a handle, letting his fingers linger on the top of her hand for a moment too long. “How do you manage to get your ship enchanted?” she asks amorously once his fingers leave her skin, taking with them a feeling of gentle warmth. 

“You know the right enchantress,” he flirts back, his mouth just a bit too close to her ear. She can almost feel his voice rumbling through his chest as it presses to her back, keeping her warm against the whipping winds of the sea. “There,” he says softly. “You're sailing.” 

She laughs lightly, unaware of how exciting she actually found this until he put it to words. Seriously, she’s captaining a pirate ship! Henry is gonna be so excited when she tells him this story. “I guess I am,” she says happily. 

“I think she likes you,” he says in a way that she knows isn’t a joke, despite how ridiculous it sounds.

“Why, because she isn’t sinking?” 

“Aye, she doesn’t always take kindly to strangers.”

“And you let me do this?!”

He laughs, but doesn’t respond with words, as if he knows he’s been caught. “I had a feeling.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and while he’d dropped her hand and is letting her steer on her own, she notes that he doesn't back up and keeps her back pressed gently to him. “We’re going to get you home to him, love,” he murmurs into her ear, so softly that she can barely hear him over the sound of the wind. “I know-- well, I would wager that you have some experience with abandonment and… Well, I’m not going to let your boy go through that.” 

She draws her brows together in thought, considering how perceptive he is, how well he seems to know her after such a short time. She turns around to face him, seeing just how close he truly is to her, and cocks her head. He reaches behind her to take control of the wheel, bringing himself even closer. “How do you know?” she asks. 

His smile is small, sad. “I’m no stranger to a lost soul.” 

“Are you accusing me of being a lost soul?” she asks in a tone as soft as his own. 

“Perhaps I'm simply trying to tell you that I understand.” 

With a hum, she says, “what are you saying, Captain? Are we kindred spirits?” 

He cracks a brilliant smile, his eyes crinkling and glimmering in the moonlight, shining like the stars above them. “Aye, I suppose we are.”

She’s so calm with him. It feels wrong to let herself relax into his hold, to let herself enjoy the feeling of his chest vibrating against hers as he speaks. She should be focusing on getting home, on getting to Henry and protecting him from Regina. Not fantasizing about a pirate she thought was fictional. 

But then he leans closer to her, his hook on the wheel and his hand reaching up to cup her cheek, and she doesn't even try to stop herself from pressing onto her toes and capturing his lips in a slow yet chaste kiss. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss her back, and she feels warmth flitting through her and settling in the deepest depths of her center until he’s tangling his fingers in her hair and getting his rings caught in the strands.

She breathes out a soft giggle at the sharp tug, pulling from him and attempting to detangle herself from him. “Apologies, my darling,” he practically purrs against her mouth. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, planting her forehead against his and trying to catch her breath. They had only kissed for a second, but their close proximity and the raw, ardent nature of his observations weigh heavily between them and she  _ feels  _ something. 

He kisses her lips again, one, twice, three times, before saying, “time for dinner.” 

She groans and rolls her eyes. “Not more of that tack shit is it?” 

He laughs heartily and says, “tonight you’ll get some more jerked meat, darling. Perhaps some rum to chase it down.” 

“I’d love some rum.” 

With a smirk, he steps back slightly and reaches his hand into his coat, taking out a flask and passing it to her, but not before removing the cork with his teeth and popping it onto the ground. She takes it happily from him, smirking back and stuffing the feeling of warmth that traces through her as deeply as she can. 

~~~~

The ship is enchanted in several ways, she realizes. Hook told her that it’s impossible to damage her, but she’s discovered other quirks as well. For one, it’s never cold. Not only is his cabin toasty warm, as if it’s well insulated, but the rest of the ship is comfortable as well. For another, although it rained last night and the deck should have been slick, it was completely dry. And now, music is playing, and she can’t for the life of her find the source. 

The wind is whipping but the lanterns stay lit, maybe another side effect of the enchantment, and the crew lounges happily on the deck, enjoying their rum and their opportunity to relax. Hook leans against the ladder that leads to the helm, and she can’t help but stare through her lashes at his confident posture as he laughs at the crewmen dancing wildly. 

They shout boisterously as a slower, more romantic song replaces the shanties, laughing and hollering at their Captain until he stands and holds up his hands in defeat, shaking his head and smiling. She isn’t sure what they’re all talking about, but she’s excited to see him do what he seems so adamant to avoid. 

That is, until he comes up to her and holds out his hand, offering her a small, shy smile in replacement of the smirk she was expecting. “Dance with me, Swan?” 

“Dance with you?” she asks in outrage. “I can’t dance!” 

“Aye, another thing you haven’t had the opportunity to learn, I’m sure, but I happen to be a brilliant teacher.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” she accuses, although she can’t deny the grin splitting her face that matches his. “Are you saying you know how to dance to this?”

He takes her hand with a salacious smirk and practically drags her to the middle of the deck, placing his own on her hip. “It’s called a waltz,” he tells her, “and there’s only one rule.” She feels a heat radiating off of herself that’s different from anything she’s felt before, as if a light is glowing from her skin and hair as he spins her. “Pick a partner who knows what they’re doing.” 

She’s breathless, and every fear and worry she's had since she went through that damn portal has evaporated out of her pores and into the salty sea air. He holds her closer, likely forgoing the proper form they were practicing, and she melts into him. 

“You’re glowing, darling,” he murmurs, his lips grazing against her ear lobe in a way that makes her shiver. She looks down at her hands and sees the soft golden glow he must be referring to and gasps, noting it fading. “Relax, love, it’s very fitting. I’m assuming this hasn’t ever happened in the Land Without Magic.”

“No,” she says thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t have worked anyway until after—” She cuts herself off, careful not to reveal the truth; that Gold brought magic back to Storybrooke after the curse broke. Then she stops to think…  _ is this magic? _

“After what?” he interrupts her thoughts.

She clears her throat. “Uh, after I broke the curse.” 

“The one the Queen cast?  _ You  _ broke it?” he asks, suddenly serious rather than warm and flirtatious. She wonders how he would’ve known about that, but figures he must’ve been a child when it was originally cast; maybe he remembers. 

“Yeah.” She feels guilty lying to him. Maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe she should just continue to savor the feeling of his hand running along her back as he pulls her closer. As much as she’s been enjoying their time together, she reminds herself that she needs him to get home, and she’ll need to do whatever it takes for their plan to take fruition. 

~~~~

The next afternoon, Emma lounges in the Captain’s bed and reads one of the many diaries recounting his adventures. After they danced the night away, they came back to his room and she expressed interest in hearing about his journeys between kisses and soft touches. He stood and retrieved a leather bound book, handing it to her and telling her that she’s always welcome to his stories, and that he’ll happily tell her whatever she wants to know. She read until she fell asleep, with him sleeping soundly on the floor beside her, protectively positioned between her and the door.

She knows she’s behaving ridiculously. She can’t possibly let whatever is going on between them continue once they make landfall. But it isn’t like she can accomplish anything while they’re out at sea, so she lets herself indulge in his soft lips and deep eyes and profound declarations in the meantime, making a promise to herself to let him go once they land. 

She hears a commotion above deck and starts a bit, putting the book down on the bed and standing. Can pirates be attacked by other pirates? Certainly that’s a thing. She straightens the black linen shirt as she stands, the one Hook let her borrow while her clothes are being washed, tucking it more neatly into her jeans, and makes her way towards the door, pressing her ear to the wood and listening closely for trouble. She hears rustling and shouting, and her heart begins to race. It pounds harder in her chest when she hears a distinct set of footsteps making its way towards the door she’s pressed to. 

When she hears the footsteps grow too close for comfort, she turns and presses her back to the door in hopes of blocking out an intruder. They try to push it open and grunt in surprise when it only moves a bit, and she plants her feet more firmly into the floor. Her panic subsides, though, when she hears a cocky chuckle. “Swan?” he calls through the door. “Are you playing hard to get?” 

She breathes a sigh of relief when she hears his voice, moving from the door and carefully opening it just a crack to peek her head out. “What’s going on?” 

He smirks, of course, and says, “We’re docking, love. What's the matter?” 

“I thought… I dont know, I thought something was wrong.” 

He shakes his head and squeezes by her to enter the room, shutting the door behind him and touching her arm gently. “Nothing’s wrong, darling. All is going to plan.” She doesn't miss the way his eyes trail down her body, slowly and obviously taking in the sight of her.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she insists, pulling the shirt closed some more and hugging her body with her arms. 

“I’m simply admiring the way my shirt fits you, Swan,” he smirks. “You wear it much better than I do.” 

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes. “What’s the plan?” 

He chuckles and moves towards the table, stopping to pick up the book she was reading and putting it away. “The crew is docking us now, and then we’ll go to find the compass and then meet up with our colleague. Shouldn't be long before you're home.” 

She nods, taking a calming breath at the anticipation of finally getting home. He’s told her the plan: they need to find a compass from a giant’s lair, but to do that, they first need to climb a beanstalk. She isn't sure what that will entail, and she isn't really excited to find out, but she’ll do what she has to to get back to her son. 

Her shirt hasn’t dried yet. Hook packs it in his satchel so that she doesn’t leave it behind, but now she’s stuck wearing his flowy blouse with her jacket over top of it. He keeps checking her out, and she isn't sure how she feels about it. She ignores the blush and the heat that floods through her. 

The port they landed at is fairly run down and not very heavily populated, which she thinks is a good thing-- she would stick out like a sore thumb in her jeans and leather jacket, but she sure as hell isn't hiking through a forest in one of those damn dresses. 

They trek for hours, Hook filling the time with more stories that leave her with a sense of wanderlust. She grew up an orphan, traveling from foster home to foster home, and she always longed for a place to settle down. She’s never found herself wishing to travel the world, because she never had a home to come back to, but hearing his stories change things for her. 

He’s an incredible storyteller. Sometimes it’s clear that he embellishes some events to make them more dramatic, but everything he tells her is the truth despite the fact that it sounds so unbelievable. It seems he’s spent years pillaging and plundering, and while she certainly can't condone all of his actions, it also seems like he’s spent much of his time enjoying the different realms he’s explored. He tells her so many stories that she isn't sure how he could fit all of these adventures into one lifetime. 

“Can I ask you something?” she finally asks when she can make sense of his life no longer. 

“Perhaps,” he smirks. 

She carries on despite his playfulness. “How old are you?” 

“Physically? Or literally?” 

She snorts, bumping her shoulder against his at his joke, but falters when she realizes he isn't joking. She stares up at him, pausing her steps for a moment, and says, “uh, literally? I guess?” 

“Around 250.” 

“ _ What? _ ” she chokes. 

He hums. “Aye, I’ve recently counted and I believe I’ve been on this plane for about 250 years.” 

She’s speechless, blinking at him but unable to make her voice work. Shaking her head, she asks, “ _ how?” _

“Well, after my run in with the Dark One, I spent some time in Neverland. You see, the Dark One is immortal, so I needed to stay alive long enough to find a way to get my revenge. Once I found it, I came back for a few years, and then the most recent curse essentially paused time, so I didn't age again. So, I estimate around 250 years.”

With her mouth still agape, she says, “I thought you were, like… 30.” 

“Why thank you,” he smirks. “Physically, I’m around 36, I believe, so I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“So when the curse was cast, you were… the same age you are now?”

“Is that not how it worked in the Land Without Magic? I was under the impression that time would stand still.” 

She narrows her eyes, wondering how he heard such details about the curse, and managed to avoid it, but chalking it up to his piracy. “No, that’s how it worked.” 

“And how old are you, then?” 

“28,” she says without thinking, though perhaps she should have kept that a secret if she doesn’t want him to know that she’s the Savior. She can see the gears in his head turning, although he says nothing else and seeks no further clarification. 

They spend the remainder of the trip talking about Neverland, which is apparently  _ much _ different from how Barrie described. He tells her of the Lost Boys and how terrifying they were, even to a fearsome and relentless crew of pirates. While they walk, they encounter some branches in the path and he cuts them down, and she notices a tattoo on his inner forearm that catches her attention. 

“Who’s Milah?” she asks, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the forest. 

He stills but doesnt turn back towards her when he asks, “pardon?” 

“Milah, on the tattoo?” 

His shoulders fall and he clears his throat. “Someone from long ago.” 

“Where is she?” 

“She’s gone.” His tone is dismissive. Pained. 

She thinks of the first day, once she was awake, when she explored his cabin in secret before she trusted him and found a sketch of a stunning woman with thick, curly hair and soft, kind eyes. “Gold,” she says as the pieces fall into place, and he turns to face her. “Rumplestiltskin. He took more than your hand from you, didn’t he?” she asks softly. “That’s why you want to kill him.” 

She hasn’t seen him look this broken in the few days she’s known him. The timeline starts to put itself together in her mind and she realizes he’s spent almost 220 years lying in wait to avenge this woman’s death. “You're quite perceptive,” he finally says. 

The guilt is eating away at her again. How can she go on with him, convinced he has a chance to kill the Dark One, when she knows how hurt he is? What kind of a person is she becoming? 

_ One who will do anything for her son _ , she reminds herself. 

They’re silent for the rest of the trek. 

~~~~

She nearly slipped off the damn beanstalk. She wasn’t listening to him, his cocky attitude back in full force and irritating the hell out of her, so she grabbed a loose branch and it snapped. She plummeted, thought for certain she was going to die, until it stopped suddenly and he had his hook in the collar of her jacket. 

“You should listen to your Captain,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes, but internally she knows he’s right. He pulls her up close to him, pressing her front against the beanstalk and his body to her back. “Alright?” he asks, his lips brushing her ear.

“I’m fine,” she responds, and she takes a shaky breath. 

“Almost to the top, love,” he assures her, breaking away once she feels her shakiness subsiding. “Try that one,” he suggests, gesturing for a different handhold.

When they reach the top, he pulls out his flask and she scoffs at his need for a drink, but then realizes she could use some herself. Only he isn’t using it for a drink, he’s taking her hand in his and saying, “let me help.” 

“What are you--” she starts, and then he’s pouring the rum over a cut on her hand and she’s shouting at the sting. “What the hell!”

“A bloody waste, I know. But I'll not have you losing a hand to infection.” 

“Hook,” she starts, but he cuts her off. 

“Haven't you learned to listen to your Captain, love?”

She gives him an incredulous look, but when he raises his brows in quick succession, she can't help but to grin at him and roll her eyes. She’s about to say something snarky and brush him off, but then he’s wrapping her cut hand in a scarf and biting down on it so he can tighten it one-handed, not breaking eye contact with her. “Fuck,” she breathes at the sight, and then blushes fiercely. 

He smirks and chuckles deeply, leaning in close to her and stealing a quick kiss before he places his hook on the small of her back and leads her to the castle's entrance. 

“The last of the giants died ages ago, so we should be safe, save for any other intruders. All we have to do is find the compass and we’re homeward bound.”

She finds it difficult to admit to herself how much fun she has as they dig through the treasure room, searching for the compass and joking around with each other as they do. Hook pilfers a few pieces of gold, but she can’t exactly blame him; he is a pirate, after all. He finds a small broach, a golden rose, and presents it to her with flair and grandeur, bowing deeply as he holds it out to her and kissing her hand when she accepts it. “You're ridiculous,” she accuses through a laugh. 

They finally find the compass after what feels like hours, but the time passes painlessly. He helps her up onto the platform it sits on, humming amorously when her ass comes into his view, and she kicks his shoulder lightly with a laugh. 

It’s as they’re wandering through the castle, slowly making their way back towards the beanstalk, when he says, “I must say, Swan, I’m looking forward to seeing where you spent the last 28 years,” and she feels that guilt bubbling up again. He isn’t excited to get to Storybrooke to kill Gold, he’s looking forward to seeing where she’s from. It makes her think of why he agreed to help her in the first place. It makes her think of his lost love, of Milah, and she feels as if she’s taking away his chance of avenging her. 

“Hook,” she says hesitantly before they leave the treasure room. “There's something you need to know.” 

“What’s that, love?” he asks gently, as if she can do no wrong, and the guilt is flooding her now. 

She swallows thickly and takes a breath before admitting, “I know that you want to come with me to Storybrooke to kill Gold because you think there's no magic there, but… that isn't true.” 

He stills, turning to face her fully and drawing his brows close together pensively, angrily. “There’s magic? In the Land Without Magic?” 

She nods nervously. “After the curse broke, he brought magic back.”

He scoffs, shaking his head and turning to pace in agitation. “Damn you, Regina,” he says under his breath. “And you knew, all this time?” 

Her ears practically perk up, her heart starting to race again. “Did you say Regina?” 

“Aye,” he practically spits. “The witch who said there would be  _ no magic _ . Bloody charlatan.” 

“What do you mean?” she asks, horrified to hear him talking about someone he shouldn't even know. 

“I mean I was promised a land  _ without _ magic in which to slay the bloody crocodile, and here you are telling me that isn’t the case. How am I meant to get my revenge now? Cora should've seen this coming. She bloody well knows her better than most.” 

“Who the hell is Cora?” she asks firmly, backing away from him. “I thought that was the daughter of the lady you're working with?” 

He runs his hand along his face and shakes his head. “I said Cora  _ is _ the woman we’re working with. She’s looking for her daughter in your Storybrooke. Regina.” 

She feels her face going white, her blood running cold and her eyes bugging out of her head. “Cora is… Regina’s mother? You know Regina?” 

“Aye, bloody fraud has already betrayed me once,” he huffs, obviously still irritated. “I’m sorry, love, I don't mean to take out my frustrations on you, I just-- what are you doing?” 

He notices her take the small dagger from the sheath he gave her earlier, pointing it at him and she holds the compass firmly in her other hand. “Don’t come any closer.” 

“Swan? What are you doing?” She reaches behind her to tuck the compass in her back pocket; her sheriff’s pistol may have been damaged beyond repair by the ocean waves, but the cuffs are still fully functional. She takes in her surroundings quickly and then rushes to him, locking his wrist to the cage beside him without thinking her actions through and backing away. “What are you doing?!”

“Hook, I…” she sighs. “I can’t--” 

“Emma, look at me,” he insists. “Have I told you a lie?” 

“You didn't tell me the truth; you’re working with Regina’s mother!”

“How was I to know that was a problem for you?! I told you who we’re working with.”

“Not really! Regina is dangerous, she wants to take Henry away from me! Do you know how bad it would be if her  _ mother _ was there to help her?!” 

“I will help you, Emma. You won't have to go through this alone; you won't abandon Henry like you were abandoned. Let me go and we can figure this out.” 

“If Regina wanted me dead, Cora probably does too.” 

“Wanted you dead?” he murmurs in thought. He cocks his head, confused, and ponders her claim. “Who are you?” 

She shakes her head. “I can’t take the chance that I’m wrong about you.” 

“Swan,” he calls after her as she turns around. “Swan!” She feels her eyes burning as she goes towards the beanstalk, but doesn’t allow the tears to fall. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It’s here my guys! 
> 
> Thank you endlessly to @the-darkdragonfly for being the most amazing beta and friend a girl could ask for. Thank you also to @donteattheappleshook for being my personal enabler on this fic.

She’s a fool. And she’s screwed.  _ Shit. _

Why she thought running was her best option, she isn't sure. She has no plan; just a useless compass and a fractured heart. 

She regretted leaving him up there the moment she started down the beanstalk. Mostly because now the chances of her getting home are slim to none. But also because she worried about him. Then she felt like more of a fool for worrying about him. He’s a pirate, afterall, and the chances that he’s been playing her all along are high. 

Okay, she doesn't actually have any proof for that. Just the fact that he’s apparently worked with Regina in the past, at least in some capacity, and is now working with her mother. The chances that he happened to be the one to pull her from the ocean, and that Regina’s likely evil mother had nothing to do with it, are so slim. Seriously, Regina's behavior has to be learned, right? Of course her mother is as vindictive as she is. The two of them together in Storybrooke spells out trouble for Emma, and for Henry. The whole reason Emma is so desperate to get back as soon as possible is because she isn't sure what Regina could be capable of if she isn't there to protect Henry. 

She’s running through the woods, but she has no destination. She is truly a stranger to this land, with no knowledge of how to handle threats, or what a threat might even be. She has no idea how she’s supposed to get home without help. But she does  _ not _ need help from Captain Killian “Hook” Jones. 

She runs until it’s dark, and she doesn’t know what to do now that it is. She’s been in dire straits before, living on the streets and foraging through dumpsters for food, but this land is different and far more dangerous. 

Sighing in defeat, she takes a seat against a large tree, choosing one that’s grown on higher ground and thinking that makes her safer. The forest is creepy, the sounds reverberating off of the trees surrounding her giving her chills. She keeps hearing low groans in the darkness and twigs snapping on either side of her. She pulls her jacket closed and zips it up in hopes of keeping warm, but it’s hardly doing anything against the chill in the air. Looking down, she sees she’s still in Hook’s shirt and her heart clenches. She tells herself it’s because she’ll never get her own shirt back, but in the back of her mind, she knows it’s more than that. 

She doesn't have feelings for him, she tells herself. Spending a few days on his ship meant nothing. The soft and gentle kisses they shared, the fact that he never once tried to pressure her for more, the kind and tender nature of him when he interacted with her… they all meant nothing. He was a means to an end. She needed him to get home to her son and she would've done whatever it took to make that happen. 

The problem now is that she doesn't have him. And she tells herself that that is a problem because now she doesn't have a way home, but what she doesn't tell herself is that she misses him. His sense of humor. His deep, gentle eyes. The way he kissed her. 

She hates herself for leaving him up there. She doesn’t even know why she did it, just that her walls came up and her fear told her to run. 

She tells herself that he’ll be fine, and ignores the niggling thoughts in the back of her mind that ask her  _ what did you just give up?! _

She tells herself that she doesn't miss his mattress, the one she thought was too firm until she found herself spending the night in the dirt. 

She does allow herself to admit that she misses the warmth of his cabin, but not the warmth of his arms around her while they danced the night away. 

Despite the shivers that rack through her violently, she finds that she's close to sleep until she hears something threatening and too close for comfort. An animal, she thinks, makes its way through the woods, snapping branches as it goes and making its way closer and closer to her until the sound of her heartbeat is louder than the animal’s steps. Her breathing stops as she hugs herself tight, her eyes bugging out of her head even though she can’t make out anything more than two feet ahead of her. 

The creature can’t be more than ten feet from her when she squeezes her eyes shut, hoping to anything that will listen that her death will be quick. The footsteps get closer until they're dead in front of her. Her palms are sweating; her heart is slamming against her chest with such force that her ribs hurt.  _ I’m going to die _ , she thinks, until…

“Swan?” 

Her eyes fly open and are met with his; she could drown in the oceanic depths of them. She wants to lean towards him instinctively but thinks better of it and reaches instead for her small dagger. 

He holds out his hands offensively and says, “hold on, Swan, I’m not going to hurt you. Not as long as you promise not to chain me up again,” and she can hear a smirk despite barely being able to see him through the black night. 

“What are you doing here?” she hisses at him, though she isn't sure why she needs to be quiet, now that she’s realized the threat was only him. 

He holds up his wrist, still adorning one cuff like a bracelet, and says, “pirate, love. Would you put that down?” 

She drops the knife down to her side in concession, not taking her eyes off of him. “Tell me why you’re here, then, if you’re not going to—”

“Kill you?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ve gotten out of worse scrapes than that. And there is something undeniably sexy about you chaining me up.” 

“Hook,” she deadpans, rolling her eyes. 

“I came here to save you.” 

She leans away from him in thought, pressing her back to the tree but unable to get far from him as he leans forward. “From what?” 

Her walls are climbing, growing in height and strength as he admits his motives. What could he possibly be saving her from if he’s the one working with her enemy? 

“Cora,” he answers. “When I got to the bottom of the beanstalk, she was waiting. She was upset that I hadn’t waited for her and asked me why, so I told her that I found you.” She stiffens, giving him a threatening look as she prepares for him to tell her that he’s sold her out. 

“Hook, you don’t understand. Henry is just a kid, he needs—”

“I know, darling. That’s why I'm here. When I told Cora you were here and trying to get home to your son, and that you know Regina through him, she must've put the pieces together. She doesn't know why, but she knows that Henry is something that Regina wants, and she sees that as a way to get into her good graces.”

She hugs her arms around her middle in fear for her child, biting her lip anxiously and looking up at him beggingly. “Hook, please.”

“I’m going to help you get home,” he tells her seriously, reaching his hand in front of himself to brush a stray piece of hair out of her lashes. “I don't know what’s happened between you and the Queen, but I can see how important this is to you. And despite the fact that you just betrayed me and left me atop a bloody beanstalk to die, I must admit that I trust you rather completely. At least, I trust you more than Cora and her daughter.” 

Cocking her head to the left, into his hand, she asks, “really?” 

He nods once, stroking along her cheek before dropping his hand. “Aye.” 

“I’m sorry I chained you up,” she tells him after a beat, and he smiles softly. “I just… I don't know, I thought you may have been working with her and maybe you knew somehow…” 

He sighs and moves towards her, sitting down by her side and settling against the tree along with her. “Can you tell me what’s happened? Why you're so fearful of Cora and Regina?” 

She sighs too, and she finds herself effortlessly leaning against his arm and almost dropping her head to his shoulder. She isn’t sure if she’s ever trusted someone this much after such a short time— not even Neal. 

“Regina adopted Henry after I gave him up,” she whispers into the night, finding herself far less scared and on edge than she was before he arrived. “He showed up at my doorstep ten years later saying his mother is  _ evil,  _ so I went to Storybrooke to make sure he was okay _.  _ Then I found out she’s the damn Evil Queen! And she’s so vindictive and wants to hold him hostage just because she thinks of herself as his mother, which I guess she is; she did raise him. But I’m his mother, too. And I don't think he’s safe with her.  _ He _ doesn't feel safe with her.” 

He listens quietly beside her, and when she pauses to take a deep, grounding breath, he drops his hand to his side and takes hold of her own, squeezing soothingly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

After another breath, she shrugs. “He doesn't feel safe. I know I just became his mother recently, but knowing that and not being able to do anything— being stuck here and unable to protect him— it’s killing me,” she chokes out. “And if her mother is there to help her get him to go with her… I don't want to think about what that could mean for him.” 

He’s silent for a moment, as if taking in what she’s told him and considering how to respond, before he stands abruptly and reaches his hand to her. She takes it, and he pulls her up and places his hand on the small of her back and starts guiding her through the trees. “Let's get you home, love.” 

She slows her steps, forcing him to pause, and says, “aren’t you mad at me? For leaving you up there?” 

He smirks once he’s turned around and facing her. “Oh, I was furious. I planned on making you pay, and thought of  _ many  _ different ways in which I could do just that,” he says in a way that makes her think she might not mind whatever he had planned. “But, when I got to the bottom and ran into Cora, I couldn’t help this horrible feeling, like I should…” He shakes his head pensively but doesn’t finish his thought. “Anyway, I understand why you did it. And your boy’s safety is what’s important.” 

“Are you sure? You still want to go even though there's magic in Storybrooke? ” she asks, confused as to how he can let go of his anger so easily. She wouldn’t blame him for holding this against her. 

“Aye. My goal is simply to get to Storybrooke and try to avenge my Milah, however I can. And besides, you’re far prettier company than Cora,” he flirts with a smirk. 

Ignoring the fluttering in her chest, she says, “how are we supposed to get a portal working without Cora?”

With the same smirk never leaving his face, he says, “trust in your Captain, my dear.” 

~~~~

He’s right. She should trust her Captain. Who but a pirate would think to steal an old, petrified magic bean from a giant’s lair and know exactly how to bring it back to life? 

They walk through the night, Hook holding a lantern out in front of them with his hook and keeping his hand on the small of her back as they go. She feels safe with him again, unlike how she felt when she was alone and running through the woods. No, now she has a plan and a pirate to guide her. 

She tries not to dwell on the fact that he came back. He came back to  _ save her.  _ Whatever makes her heart race when she’s in his presence, she ignores. She ignores the slight tingle that zips through her spine whenever his fingers dance song her back. She ignores the warmth that trickles through her core whenever he pauses to have a drink of water, his throat bobbing as he swallows. She ignores the way the lantern catches the soft glow of his skin, just where it dips at his collarbones. 

Come morning, she’s exhausted, but she agreed that they needed to move fast to avoid running into Cora. He pauses his steps when they arrive at a sandy pit and sighs in satisfaction, running his hand up her spine and squeezing her shoulder. “Here we are, Swan.” 

“It’s… I thought you said we were looking for a lake?” 

“Oh, aye,” he nods, stepping forward to make his way down the hill and into the pit, turning back to her and offering her his hand, which she ignores. “It’s true that the water in this lake has restorative properties. And any Captain worth his salt knows how to find water.” 

She hums and steps in front of him, sliding gracelessly down the sandy hill and landing too hard at the bottom. She knows she’s getting old because she can imagine how her knees will feel in the morning. “Come on,” she calls up at him, rolling her eyes as he laughs. 

He walks to the center of the pit, where the ground dips the lowest and is slightly darker than the rest of the sand, and he drops to his knees. She can’t help the way her heart skips a beat when he removes his greatcoat, draping it on the ground and offering her a seat, before he digs his hook into the earth. “Hand me that?” he asks, gesturing towards a shell, which he uses to assist in his digging. 

He talks to her as he works, panting and explaining that the water will be under the sand. She doesn’t bother to tell him that she knows this already, because frankly, she’s enjoying the way his voice sounds as he exerts himself. She enjoys the way he’s working this hard for her. And then she ignores that too. 

Sure enough, a small puddle of water emerges from the sand as he reaches into the hole he’s digging. He exclaims excitedly when he sees it, poking his head up to look at her and grin. “The bean, if you please, my dear,” he says, holding out his hand. 

She smiles at him and places the dead bean in his palm, ignoring the electricity that zips through her fingers when they meet his skin. He holds it by the chain wrapped around it and dips it into the small puddle, and she leans close to him so that they can watch as it sparkles back to life, changing from brown and dried to stunningly magical. She can’t help the grin that splits her face, and she certainly can’t help leaning towards him and pressing a soft, excited kiss to his mouth. 

It seems like he’s going to reciprocate, leaning into her as well and pursing his lips, but before he gets a chance to cup her cheek with his palm, they’re interrupted. 

“I’m sure I could’ve made that easier for you, Hook,” a woman calls. “Magic would’ve been faster and far less physically taxing, wouldn’t you agree?”

He stiffens, pulling from her and grasping the bean tightly, placing his hook on her thigh. “Cora,” he says as he moves to stand. 

“Surprised to see me?” the woman asks, moving towards them and not bothering to lift the hem of her dress as it drags through the sand. “I’m sure you thought yourself quite smart, didn’t you, Captain? Telling me you were off to get the compass and then leaving me high and dry.” 

He’s on his feet and standing between Emma and Cora in an instant, his hand gripping the bean while also reaching towards his sword protectively. “Stay back,” he warns. 

She laughs condescendingly. “Oh, Captain, you know I don’t have to get any closer to stop you. It’s so simple; all I have to do is aim for your heart.” 

With a smirk, she holds up a hand and points it straight for Emma, and she sees Hook’s shoulders tense in response. “Don’t!” he shouts, and suddenly he’s running. 

He’s running, not towards Cora to stop her, but towards Emma. 

He crashes into her, slamming himself against her until she’s sent careening into the sand and has the air knocked from her lungs. Cora laughs again, cackles is more like it, and Emma can’t help the feeling of unease it sends through her. “Are you alright?” he asks, running his eyes rapidly over her face and body as if checking for injury. 

“What the hell was that for?” she asks, pushing her hands against his shoulders in hopes of getting his weight off of her. 

“Up you get, Captain,” Cora commands, and they’re snapped out of their thoughts at once as he stands and pulls her up with him. “Give me the bean and the compass and I promise not to kill you, or your darling Emma.” 

“Hook?” she asks, confused about what the hell this woman is going on about.

“Go to hell,” he hisses, ignoring Emma but keeping his hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword and the blade crossed defensively in front of her. “Emma, take the bean,” he commands. 

“I don’t think so,” Cora says, and she raises her hand again, this time pointing right for Hook, her face menacing. Before they could think, a stream of onyx flows threateningly from her fingers, knocking Hook to the ground and drawing a pained groan from him. 

“No!” Emma shouts, kneeling beside him and running her hands along his face to check for injury. “Hook? Hook!” 

“He’s a fool, isn’t he? His pretty face buys him a lot, but not my time,” Cora says as if she’s bored. 

“Run,” he grunts as he rises from the ground, but it’s evident based on the limpness of his limbs that it’s happening against his will. When Emma turns, she sees Cora holding up her hand again, as if she’s commanding Hook’s body towards her. She grabs onto his hand in an attempt to pull him back down to her, but she ends up simply running after him, unable to do much else. 

“Let him go!” she shouts at Cora when she’s close enough.

“He knows my terms,” she says uncaringly, dropping him to the ground before her. Emma follows suit and drops to her knees at his side, noting the eerie stillness of his unconscious form. “He lied to me— said he was on his way to get the compass back and get you out of my way. Now look at him.” 

“You’re insane,” she accuses, unsure of what else to say. She thinks she could just throw the bean down like he told her and let them both fall through the portal, but they’re too close to Cora and she could go through herself. 

“If I had to guess,” she continues, “I’d say you feel the same way for him as he does for you. How does it feel when I do this?” 

She lunges for them, her hand out threateningly again, and Emma thinks back to what Hook told her about Cora and Regina stealing hearts. About how she can reach into someone’s chest and rip it from their body without so much as blinking. She remembers this and sees her hand plunging towards his chest, and she doesn’t think. 

Emma shouts in protest and falls onto him, her own body shielding him from her hand until she feels a sharp, painful pressure in her back and through her chest. She feels a tugging from inside her, and nearly retches at the pain that floods through her as she feels Cora’s hand gripping her heart within her ribs. “You stupid girl,” Cora says. “Don’t you know? Love is weakness.” 

She tugs again, and then again, and then a third time, grunting in frustration as Emma cries out in pain. But nothing happens. Her heart doesn’t leave her body and Cora stalls in confusion. Emma turns her head so that she can look up at her, panting heavily before clenching her muscles until something in her explodes powerfully, sending Cora flying backwards. 

Hook groans again, his face screwing in discomfort as Emma coughs violently. “Swan,” he rasps, looking up at her in confused awe. “What did you do?” 

With another cough, she hits her chest and leans up, removing her weight from him and taking his hand as she turns back and sees Cora still on the ground. “We have to go,” she urges, pulling on his hand. “I don't know what just happened; I don't know how long she’ll be down for.”

He coughs as well, taking her hand and shaking his head as if to bring himself back to reality. “The bean?” he asks, and she holds it up before him, nodding towards his pocket. 

“Compass?” 

“Aye, love,” he says with a gentle smile. He takes the bean from her hold, brushing his fingers against hers and sending a zip of electricity through her, causing an actual spark to fly from her skin. Pinching his brows and glancing at her briefly, he shakes his head and tosses the bean, offering her his hand. “Think of home, my darling, and we’ll be there before you know it. Hold onto me; don’t let go.” 

“I won’t,” she tells him meaningfully. 

~~~~

The world swirls around her in a violent green that’s reminiscent of her trip to the Enchanted Forest. She grasps onto his arm so tightly that she may be cutting off his circulation as he clings to the compass in his hand. She thinks hard, of Henry and the family she had only just met. Of her bed, far more comfortable than the forest floor she tried to sleep on. Of her yellow bug. Of her box of keepsakes. 

She thinks of the home she wants to build. Of the life she wants for Henry and herself. Of getting him his own room and walking him to school in the mornings. Of celebrating Christmas and birthdays with him. 

She thinks of Hook. Of how at home she’s felt with him for the past few days. Then she stops herself and thinks of Storybrooke again, not desiring to end up elsewhere. 

But not altogether denying her feelings, either. 

~~~~

They land forcefully in the sand, grunting in unison as his back slams into the earth and her head hits against his chest. She groans in discomfort, reaching up to touch her forehead and hoping to will the ache away, before his hand slinks up her back and into her hair, scraping his fingers against her scalp soothingly. 

“Emma,” he whispers. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” she whispers back, pressing up onto her elbows to look at him, touching her fingers to his face. “Are you?” 

“Yes,” he responds back with a sigh and a soft, close-mouthed cough. She doesn't think before brushing his hair out of his eyes. 

“No concussion?” He screws up his brows and shakes his head in confusion, so she clarifies, “you took quite a blow to the head.”

“I’m alright, love,” he promises, cupping her cheek with his palm and making her feel like she’s never been safer. “We did it.” 

She gives him a grin, realizing that he’s right. They landed on the beach in Storybrooke.  _ They did it _ . 

“We did,” she confirms. 

“You should go and get your boy. Shouldn’t be too difficult to ward Regina off; you’re a strong lass.” 

She nods in agreement and says, “you should go find Gold. He has a shop in town.”

“Aye.” 

Neither of them move, Emma still firmly planted on Hook’s chest and his hand still tenderly pressed to her cheek. Their gazes meet, both unwilling to let go of the other. Is this it? Is this where they part ways? Will he try and find a way back to the Enchanted Forest? 

“I’m gonna go to Granny's later,” she finally says, hoping her meaning is clear but unwilling to ask him to meet her. “She makes real food, not that dried meat you forced on me.” 

He laughs loudly enough for her, but not so loud that it breaks through the bubble of gentle solitude they inadvertently created for themselves. “Sounds like a good plan, darling. Perhaps I’ll investigate before my trip back.”

Her heart sinks. Of course he wants to go back, he lives in Misthaven. His ship is still there, as is his crew. His  _ home _ . 

She nods at him, fighting the sadness that wells in her throat, and moves to stand. She misses the warmth that she leaves behind. She forces herself not to dwell on how much she’ll miss  _ him.  _

~~~~

Henry screams  _ mom! _ when he sees her, running straight into her arms and jumping into her hold. He squeezes her tight, and she feels tears springing to her eyes as she holds him to her. 

“You’re back!” he shouts into her ear, and she laughs as she spins them around, not a care in the world about the fact that they’re standing outside of Granny’s in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“Of course I’m back,” she tells him, squeezing once more before her back nearly gives out and she places him back down. 

“Regina said you wouldn’t, but I  _ knew _ you’d come back.” 

She furrows her brows, squatting down to get onto his level and look him in the eye. “Henry, no. I’ll  _ always _ come back to you,” she promises, remembering her conversation with Hook. Remembering how quickly he pegged her as an orphan. “I’m sorry, kid. I know what it feels like to think you’ve been abandoned. I’m sorry if it felt like I wasn’t coming back.” 

He shakes his head, taking her hand and dragging her towards the entrance of Granny’s. “You don’t know what it was like while you were gone,” he explains. “She told me you left on purpose.”

“What?” she hisses as they sit down. “No, Henry, never. I fell through the portal; I never stopped fighting to get back to you.” 

He smiles from across the booth at her, and then dives into stories of what happened while she was gone. He asks her about what she did in the Enchanted Forest and she tells him story after story about her trip on a pirate ship and climbing up a beanstalk to plunder a giant's castle, all the while wishing she could tell him these stories as well as Hook would. 

~~~~

Mary Margaret is way too eager to hear about Emma's trip to the Enchanted Forest. At one point, she mentions how exciting it is that she got to go  _ home _ , if only briefly. She asks for each detail, wondering how their realm looked and what she thought of the kingdom. Of  _ their _ kingdom. 

And Emma smiles too much when she tells them about the dashing, roguish Captain who acted as her guide and as her guardian. David pinches his brows together at the mention of him, and she blushes. “It’s okay,” she tells him sadly. “He’s going back.”

Henry looks forward to Emma being home again. He’s spent his nights with David and Mary Margaret rather than with Regina, but he tells her of how much he’s missed her and her heart swells. He practically drags her from Granny’s, running happily down the entryway to catch up with his grandparents as she follows him with a smile. 

“Swan,” she hears from behind her, and she jumps just a bit too high. She feels a blush creeping up her cheeks, sinking down her neck and to her chest as she turns and sees him sitting at a table to her right, leaning forward towards her. 

“Hook,” she breathes, pausing her steps and turning towards his table. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles. “Are those… Are they your friends?” he asks, looking towards the exit her family just left through. She realizes she never told him who she is. Why she felt so threatened by a pirate in her parents’ kingdom. Why she was the one to break the curse. 

“They’re, uh, my parents,” she tells him softly as she makes her way over to him. 

He purses his lips in thought for a moment, and she can see the moment that the details click for him. “Bloody hell,” he breathes. “The magic, your heart… You’re the Savior.”

It isn’t a question. Somehow, he knew there would be a Savior who breaks the curse, and she isn’t sure what to make of the fact that he figured out it was her so easily. Rather than dwelling on it, she changes the subject. 

“Are you,” she clears her throat before glancing towards Henry, who has made his way to Mary Margaret and David at the sidewalk. “Are you here to say goodbye?”

He shakes his head as if to bring himself back to reality. “I was hoping we could talk, actually.” 

She looks towards her son and her friends again— her  _ parents _ — and gives them a small wave, indicating her intention to stay behind for a few moments before walking to a chair beside him. Henry waves back excitedly and sprints down the sidewalk. 

“What’s up?” she asks once she’s seated beside him. With a small smirk, she asks, “did you get your revenge?” 

“No,” he smiles, and she pinches her brows together. “I spend the afternoon exploring your quaint little town. Avoided a small antiquities shop, though.” 

“Oh.” Her confusion must’ve been evident on her face as he admits to her that he purposely didn’t go out seeking his revenge when it was at his fingertips. Sure, the ability for Gold to use magic may have made it more difficult for him, but she’s seen how deeply his passion runs, and knows he would’ve found a way to make it work for him if he had truly wanted to. “Why? Why wouldn’t you go after Gold?” she asks. 

He shrugs nonchalantly and says, “wasn’t worth it.” 

“Killian,” she breathes, unable to come up with anything else to say, and he looks up at her with a pained expression, passion pouring from his face. She realizes that it’s the first time she’s ever addressed him by name. “You’ve spent lifetimes trying to avenge Milah. Now you’re just… giving up?”

He smiles sadly and shakes his head. “I’m not giving up. I’ve just realized that there isn’t much of a chance of me getting that revenge. It’s alright.” 

She can’t wrap her head around what he’s saying. His love died in his arms at the hands of this man, and he spent centuries trying to avenge her. Now that he has the chance, he doesn’t believe he can do it. What’s more astonishing is that he doesn’t even seem to care. “Aren’t you angry?”

“No,” he answers immediately. “I realized something else.” 

“What’s that?” she asks, her heart fluttering. 

“I realized… I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love. Of my Milah. To believe that I could move on.” He sighs as he casts his eyes down, looking at her hands where they rest on the surface of the table before he takes one in his own. “That is, until I met you.” 

She's frozen, her blood racing like hot lava through her veins as her heart slams against her ribs with such force that it reminds her of when Cora’s fist was closed around it. He chances a glance up at her and smiles softly before looking back down at their hands. “Hook…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells her quietly. “I know you have walls higher than that bloody beanstalk. I just wanted you to know… I realized I may never get my revenge, but I was alright with that.”

“Killian…”

“You're the reason, love. You helped me to realize that I can be a better man than he— I don’t need revenge to be happy. When I fished you out of the sea, I had no idea my life would change so drastically. But I’m damn glad it did.”

She finally finds the courage to smile up at him, to meet his gaze with her own and blush, and she’s so glad she does. His brilliant eyes meet hers and everything falls into place. Everything is as it should be. She’s  _ home.  _ “What are you saying?” she asks with a smile, and she thinks, she hopes, she knows his answer. 

“Well,” he starts, bringing her hand up to his mouth and pressing his lips to her knuckles. “I met Granny. She’s lovely, if not a bit abrasive. She’s rented a small room out to me; it seems she accepts doubloons.”

Leaning forward to enter his space, their noses just inches apart, she asks, “you’re staying?” 

“Aye,” he breathes against her mouth.

It’s the simplest thing she’s ever done, leaning closer to him until their lips meet. His hand immediately releases her own and finds her cheek, and the way he kisses her back lights a fire in her that she thinks she’ll never be able to extinguish. The passion behind this one kiss is enough to steal her heart from her chest, but she doesn't mind; she doesn't need it as long as he’s the one holding onto it.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> What do we think friends?! comments and kudos are so, so loved. follow me on tumblr too for more!! @elizabeethan


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